


Ten

by nobetterpicture



Category: JYJ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobetterpicture/pseuds/nobetterpicture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what universe or lifetime they live, they still end up meeting. (aka my excuse to write a bunch of mini Soulmate AUs) Inspired by this (http://joongie.net/post/75102969022) gifset. Originally posted on LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for character death and also bad French (just started studying again so, forgive me T_T). See notes at the end for other explanations~!

**7**

They’re placed at nearly the same level this time.

Both heirs to the throne of their family’s wealth, chaebols before chaebols even had a name. Yoochun: the young face of old money and hotels while Jaejoong was the new star, his family restaurant exploding into a chain of restaurants when he was only seven years old. 

Jaejoong hated dealing with business. He hated smiling for everyone, hated all the pictures and cameras. Hated that his sisters said no and left everything to him, that he always had to look good, for the sake of his parents, and now seemed to forever live in a suit.

His world was back in the restaurant with his mother, back when they only had one restaurant with loyal customers and were closed Sundays. But the day that the tv station found their little hole in the wall, the day that big black camera zoomed in on his semi-toothless smile and stained red apron, things were always different. 

Today, though, he had a major appointment. His parents had been contacted by The Plaza in Seoul, one of the famous hotels under the Park family. They wanted to add one of the Kim restaurants into their hotel and Jaejoong’s parents jumped at the opportunity. 

_Don’t come back without a perfect deal,_ his mother said, straightening his red tie and smoothing his shoulders.

_This is exactly what we sent you to Seoul National for,_ his father said, sitting next to him on the taxi ride over. _One word from the Parks and we’re finished. Don’t screw it up._

The ride up the elevator was quiet. His briefcase full of notes and numbers forgotten as Jaejoong tried to remember to breathe properly. A glance in the mirrored walls showed the clear panic on his face, but by the time he reached the 30th floor, a smile was on his face and he was ready.

What he wasn’t ready for was who Park Yoochun was. 

“Kim Jaejoong-sshi, it’s nice to meet you. Your smile is as pleasant as I’ve heard.”

Jaejoong’s stomach twisted at Park Yoochun’s smile, the gentle firmness of his handshake, and the kind way that he started the meeting. There was something so familiar here, something that tugged at all Jaejoong’s senses and nearly drove him out of his mind.

He didn’t realize that he was actually feeling sick until he lost focus and fell out of his seat. 

The last thing Kim Jaejoong saw was Park Yoochun’s worried face hovering above his. 

 

His eyes were too sad for two business men that just met.

 

 

**3**

His window ledge doesn’t seem all that high. All he has to do was jump down and he’ll be free. 

Free from the screams above their tiny apartment and the cries he heard from his mother in the bathroom. Sure, Micky was only twelve years old, but he knew enough that his life wasn’t the best.

It took two more weeks before he gathered his courage and finally jumped. He nearly twisted his ankle on the fall, but with thirty dollars in his backpack and the wind at his back, Micky felt invincible. 

The park was home for a couple weeks, the summer air warm enough to keep him safe. But by the third week, the police found him.

“Where are your parents, son? It’s not good for a boy like you to be alone in New York like this.”

Micky kept quiet though and with no identification on him, no matches to any past or recent missing child reports, no schools that say they recognize him, the police had no choice but to place him in foster care. 

With most foster homes in New York City filled, he ended up in a church with some nuns. They didn’t force him to speak after the police told them that he seemed to be mute (or by the look of his face, too foreign to even know English) and simply smiled and gave him a new change of clothes. 

His new room was with seven other boys and after two weeks, he still hadn’t said a word to any of them. Instead he slept most of the day and stared out the windows at night, memories of the wind on his back too strong to ignore. 

 

He broke the lock on the window when the fall air came, the orphanage too small, too packed, too loud for him to withstand anymore.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

Micky turned around, searching for the voice, Jay or “JJ”, as he liked to go by. The older boy stood right behind him, dark eyes looking even colder in the moonlight. He had been at the orphanage most of his life, or so the other children said. 

“You’ll just be dragged back here by your hair. And this time, they’ll make you speak.”

He tilted his head at Jay, wondering how the other knew he wasn’t actually mute, but shut the window and slid down to the ground anyway. Jay held out his hand, a worn, red woven bracelet hanging from his wrist. Cautiously, Micky took it.

Their beds were small, but Jay seemed to know the right way to hold him to make him feel...warm. The way he used to feel when his mother hugged him when he was younger. It was the first real connection he’d made with any of the other children and it just felt…right.

 

They spent the next couple weeks attached at the hip, the nuns laughing at Jay trying to get Micky to speak or at least smile.

By the time he did laugh at one of Jay’s dumb jokes, Micky was ready. He opened up his mouth, his throat and vocal records more than a little rusty, but still usable.

“Jay-”

“JAY KIM. COME HERE THIS INSTANT.”

Jay smiled at him, wide and bright and beautiful, before running off.

 

An hour later, Jay was adopted. 

 

Without the lock, the window opened too easy. 

 

**8**

Muwon was late for his noona’s wedding.

It was bad enough that she decided to have it in Hawaii, no matter if his new brother-in-law’s family lived there.

It was the middle of the summer and the worst time of day to be wearing a black suit. The locals stared at him like he was crazy, laughing at the sweat rolling down the sides of his face as he tried to find the location of the wedding. He’d told the taxi driver to let him off by the main beach but- 

There was beach everywhere and after taking his money (too much, in Muwon’s opinion), the driver left him in the dust and sand. 

At least the view was pretty.

He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned a few of the buttons on his tuxedo shirt, staring at the endless stretch of beach and small houses. Muwon sighed.

Thirty minutes later, he found himself back in the same spot, more lost than ever. It was a big wedding. He doubled checked with a local that he was on the right island. The sweet grandma had just smiled and nodded at him- before pointing him in the wrong direction. 

He sat down right on the sand and sighed again, pricey rental suit be damned.

“From the sound of your sigh, you don’t seem to be my niece that’s hiding from me.”

Looking behind him, Muwon saw a man and his dog. From the sunglasses and tanktop to the flipflops in his tattooed hand, it was obvious that he was a local. And it was obvious that Muwon wasn’t.

“Well, I’ve had people call me pretty before, but never a little girl.” Muwon replied shortly. It was bad enough that he couldn’t find his noona’s wedding, but here he was, made a fool of by some beach bum.

The man frowned at his answer and shook his head. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to insult you. Usually Haru’s harness makes it obvious to people.” He patted the golden retriever’s red harness before raising his sunglasses.

His eyes seemed normal, a pretty brown lighter than Muwon’s own, but then he noticed it. That the man wasn’t looking _at_ him. He was looking to the spot right next to him. His eyes seemed unfocused and constantly drifting-

Oh.

“N-no, I’m sorry. I just-” Muwon scrambled off the sand, shaking out his jacket. “I’m grumpy and late for my noo-uh, sister’s wedding because I’m a little lost. Seoul doesn’t have beaches like this.” 

The other man smiled at him as fixed his sunglasses. “Wedding, you say? Well, no wonder it’s so noisy around here.” He turned, staring (wait looking- aish, Muwon’s brain hurt trying to correct himself) down one of the streets Muwon had tried before. “There’s a bunch of people on the other side of the beach. I thought it was just some family party, but now that you said wedding, I suppose they both sound the same. If you’d like, Haru and I can show you?”

The man’s voice sounded hesitant and it made Muwon feel awful. And for more than just one reason. 

“I...would love that.” He dusted the rest of the sand off his pants (there was nothing to do about the sand in his shoes and socks now) and walked over to the two, about to pet the friendly looking golden retriever until he hesitated. 

“Haru loves to be pet, don’t worry.” He told Muwon with a small grin. “But I think we should get you to your sister’s wedding before she’s too upset.”

 

In the end, Muwon was really only a few kilometers away from the wedding. It took them about 25 minutes to walk, but it was peaceful. Muwon talked about Seoul and the city while the other talked about Hawaii and the islands and the beach. Despite a rocky introduction, Muwon was surprised at how calm and relaxed and...well, _natural_ he felt around the other.

Everyone in his family was so loud and yelling for him, he had no clue how he hadn’t heard them before. The minute they saw him, they immediately surrounded him, pulling him into hugs and grabbing his face, asking if he was okay.

It wasn’t until they relaxed after a couple minutes that he turned back to his new friend.

“Hey if you want, you’re welcome to join-”

But the blind man and his dog were gone.

Muwon had never gotten his name and it haunted him for the rest of his life. 

 

 

**2**

They’re born on the same day, in the same town, to mothers who are best friends and hoping that their children can be the same way. 

The most they get is sleeping together on a new red blanket, unconsciously curled toward each other. Their families had wished that one could have been a girl, to join their families together, but sons, first sons at that, were even more of a blessing. 

Little did they smell the oil or smoke or fire until it was almost too late. 

They both make it out alive, but not without the consequences. 

Jaejun’s face was permanently scarred and, as an effect, had to be hidden away from everyone for life. Sunjoon grew up alone, under his father’s harsh instruction, and became a lonely life scholar with no one by his side. 

“They could have been best friends,” Sunjoon’s mother sighed, gazing through the stalls with Jaejun’s mother. “They could have been happy. Just like us.”

Jaejun’s mother hid her glare. She thought of her poor son, lonely and hidden away. Dead to everyone except a few. 

“Happy, of course.”

 

**5**

Paris. 

Jaye was bored at the cafe. His shift didn’t end for another two hours and then he had that _promise_ he made to his mother. 

“I can’t take off work this week and I promised that I would help out her son. She helped me out when I first had you and I left her before Yoochun was born. I owe her this, Jaye. My little blue jay~ Please?”

He never could (or would) say no to his mother.

Soon enough he was standing at the train station, lighting his second cigarette with a stupid hand-written sign in his hand.

**Park Yoochun**

Jaye had nothing to go off of but this stupid paper sign. His mother might have been smart and wonderful enough to be one of the first Koreans to work at The Louvre but that didn’t mean she always thought ahead. He exhaled a huge cloud of smoke, using the side of his hand to scratch his forehead.

All he wanted to do was go home and paint and drink some wine and be a miserable artist like he’d been the past five years. Being 27 in Paris and out of art school wasn’t the exactly the most exciting life. 

“ _E-excusez-Moi? Je suis_ \- Uh _Je suis_ Park Yoochun.”

It was the worst French accent that Jaye had ever heard in his life.

“That was the worst French accent I have ever heard in my life.” Jaye replied, turning on his heel to the voice behind him.

“And that was the worst Korean accent I’ve ever heard in mine.” 

Jaye laughed, taking a last drag on his cigarette and then stomping it out under his heel. 

“Jaye Kim.” He stated, holding out his hand. “Well, Kim Jaejoong to you I suppose, but that’s only my name on my birth certificate. As you stated, my Korean accent sucks and I’m as French as I can get in everything but blood.”

Yoochun smiled, eyes curving behind his glasses. “Park Yoochun. Studied French for three years but...my accent is….well. _Merde_.”

“Not how you use that but-” Jaye stopped to laugh. Maybe this week wouldn’t be so awful after all. “Ah, well. You’re here for a while, yeah? You fix my Korean, I’ll clean up your-” He had to laugh again. “ _Merde_ accent. Deal?”

Yoochun finally took his hand, his smile a little wider. It made a dimple in his cheek that was more than cute. “ _C’est une affaire_.”

“‘ _C’est conclu_ ’, not ‘ _C’est une affaire_ ’. We have a lot of work to do.” 

 

Five months later, Yoochun’s French accent still sucked. 

But, as Jaye learned, he was better at sucking when it came to _other_ things. 

Their romance was a slow one, building from that first day. Yoochun lived together with Jaye and his mother for the first couple months, something that Jaye surprisingly enjoyed. He became the unexpected muse that Jaye was missing in his life and even his mother commented on how much better his paintings were getting.

“They have so much more life in them than before,” She told him one day, gently touching the surface of one of his canvases. There was only a light sketch on it so far, the color palette undecided just yet. “Before Yoochun’s mother contacted me, I was about to kick you out on your own for inspiration. I was worried about you.”

Jaye nearly tackled her then, grinning and hugging her hard as she screamed about her nice clothes getting dirtied by him and his paint-covered smock. But she was right. He’d been in a huge rut before Yoochun. Now he had more ideas and images in his head than he could handle.

It wasn’t until Yoochun moved out to his own place that Jaye made a move. While he acknowledged Yoochun’s presence in his home a good thing, but wasn’t until he was gone that Jaye realized _why_ it was a good thing. 

After a stressful shift at the cafe (a part time job that helped display and sell some of his paintings) thanks to shitty customers and disgusting flirts, Jaye had marched right over to Yoochun’s new flat, and without thinking, pulled the man in for one of the best kisses he’d ever had in his life in the middle of his doorway. 

They spent the next three days in Yoochun’s flat, making use of every sturdy and soft surface they could. 

Jaye heard time and again from various outsiders that Paris was the city of love; that people come to “find love”, thinking that there’s some magic in the air or that Cupid (who’s not even French) is waiting right around the bend. Growing up in Paris, Jaye disagreed.

A little more than disillusioned to the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower and the weary ways of the art world, his view on love was a little tainted. He had the love of his mother and his own love of art. That was it.

But in Yoochun’s arms, in his kiss and touch and stare- Jaye felt a little of that magical love he’d heard of so much.

 

Nine months later, Jaye’s Korean was better than Yoochun’s French. 

Jaye had all about moved into Yoochun’s flat by that point, half of his paints and easels occupying a corner of the main room and his clothes filling more of the closet than Yoochun’s own. 

He was painting when Yoochun got home from his work. Jaye was never terribly interested in Yoochun’s job, remembering that it some dull museum related thing that gave him flexible hours and a very nice pay. That was all Jaye needed to know. 

Yoochun knew better not to disturb him while painting, but it was easy for Jaye to tell when someone was watching him. It was a little egotistical of him, but he loved the feeling of being watched. Yoochun knew that too. 

He painted for another hour or so, the sunset killed the natural light he liked to work in. His hands shaking and body thrumming when he finally set down his palette. Yoochun was there in a heartbeat, arms wrapping around him from behind, lips pressed against his neck. 

“Someone’s a little anxious to see me…” Jaye laughed, turning in his arms to properly kiss Yoochun. He pushed them away from his wet painting, fingers smearing the leftover red paint on Yoochun’s cheek and neck. 

There was something different and a little desperate in Yoochun’s eyes when they finally parted, but it disappeared under a smirk. 

“You made me dirty.” 

Jaye grinned back, dragging his red hand down Yoochun’s white button up. “I can make you even dirtier.”

It was then a race to see who could strip faster, Jaye winning as Yoochun tripped and fell over his pants. They didn’t even make it to their bedroom...or the couch. 

With Yoochun already on the floor, so it was too easy for Jaye to drop on his knees and help him out of his pants. Red paint was getting everywhere, but that was something that Yoochun had accepted about Jaye. He was sort of a mess; literally. 

“Maybe I should just paint you one day. Like that stupid boat movie everyone loves,” Jaye commented, fingers brushing images up Yoochun’s thighs and across his hipbones. 

“Titanic, Jaye.” Yoochun laughed, leaning on an elbow and reaching out to tuck some of Jaye’s bottle blond hair back. “I wanted to take you to see it but you said no.” 

“It’s stupid. You don’t just fall in love in a few days like that.” He said to Yoochun’s stomach, kissing a trail up to his sternum. “It takes time.” 

His words made Yoochun sit up, shifting to pull Jaye fully into his lap. They stayed that way for a moment, staring at each other in the silence of their flat. 

Jaye didn’t know who moved first, but soon enough they were kissing again. Soft, light presses that turned firmer, harder. He could taste the bitterness of espresso on Yoochun’s tongue, his own tongue searching for more of the flavor in Yoochun’s mouth. 

“ _Je t’aime_.” 

It came out of no where and Jaye froze. Despite their feelings and kissing, despite their fucking and living together, not once had they ever spoke of their love for the other. They showed it through actions, the words left caught in their throats, unneeded. 

But the raw honesty in Yoochun’s voice was what bothered him. Bothered Jaye more than the words themselves. 

Instead of a spoken confession, it sounded more like a goodbye. 

Instead of Jaye’s heart soaring, instead of smiling and thinking that yes, this was it- Yoochun was _it_ , his answer to his life-

It felt wrong.

Everything moved even slower after that. Every touch and kiss lingered, hands and legs clenched tighter. 

They made it to the bedroom after catching their breaths and Yoochun reminded Jaye what he was _good_ at sucking at. 

By the time they finished, Yoochun was asleep on Jaye’s chest. He smoked a cigarette as he stared out the window into the night. The nervous feeling remained though everything seemed to be perfect and so _so_ right. 

Jaye fell asleep tracing words (confessions) and pictures (desires) into Yoochun’s back. 

When he woke, there was a red heart painted over his real one and a letter in his hand. 

 

_Je suis navré. Je t’aime. Je t’aime Je t’aime Je t’aime Je t’aime._

 

Sleep became worthless over the next three days as he worked on and finished the first and only portrait painting he would ever paint. When Jaye finally finished, he took a shower and brought it to his mother.

She deemed it his best work and right after, he finally broke down. 

Even after Jaye left Paris, his mother still kept the painting in storage. “Not a French Boy” would live to see the light again, once Jaye healed and moved on.

 

Only- Just like the bleeding and broken heart he painted in his self portrait,

 

He never did. 

 

**9**

Political Science was Taeyong's least favorite class. 

Considering all the riots and protests that the other students started, the class itself was usually tense and awkward, the professor glaring at anyone who dared to question him.

There was one boy who always questioned him, though. One who consistently got thrown out of class and could be seen putting up posters for new protests around campus. He was fierce and strong, black hair pulled back in a low ponytail and mouth set in a hard line at all times.

Taeyong never got his name, his professor would throw him out the moment he opened his mouth. But it didn’t take too long the moment he finally started asking around.

Seonsu. Park Seonsu. His family was made of doctors and despite their pressure, he refused to conform to their wills. He stood up for what he believed in and what he wanted, something Taeyong was too cowardly to do.

His admiration for the boy- _man_ turned into a slight obsession. 

Taeyong collected his posters, went to a few of the protests (hiding in the back and keeping out of sight as Seonsu poured out his heart and soul for what he believed in), and kept all the school newspapers that printed stories about him. He stored his collection in a locked drawer in his dorm, proud and ashamed of it at the same time.

They bumped into each other once on campus. 

Seonsu was with a few other student leaders and Taeyong was too caught up studying his notes. His notes go everywhere, but it was Seonsu’s smile and laugh, something he’d never seen or heard from the other, that was more important.

“Sorry about that-” Seonsu said, collecting the papers from the ground. 

“I-it’s fine!” Taeyong replied. “I should have watched where I was going…”

But Seonsu just smiled again, shaking his head. “It’s fine~ Hey- Wait! I’ve seen you around before- at the protests. Thanks for your support.” He handed over Taeyong’s notes and dug into his own bag. “There’s another tonight if you can make it,” He handed him a smaller flyer. “It’s going to be big and we’ll need all the people we can get.”

He patted Taeyong’s shoulder and walked off, leaving Taeyong a little mesmerized and more than a little shocked. He _knew_ him? Had _seen_ him?

Taeyong spent the rest of the day with a stupid smile on his face.

 

But-

 

That was the last he ever saw of Park Seonsu.

The protest that night turned into a trap. A trap that Seonsu didn’t survive. 

When Taeyong found out, nothing but the thought of his locked drawer full of Seonsu’s accomplishments and victories filled his mind. After he went to Seonsu’s viewing, there was only one option left.

And Taeyong wasn’t going to let Seonsu die in vain.

 

**4**

“Han Jungwoo-sshi?”

Han Jungwoo was spread across his desk, completely passed out after a long night on duty. 

The postman quietly walked into the office, dropping a package and a few letters onto the only free corner of the desk. 

Looking at the detective, he smiled, shaking his head at the drool on Jungwoo’s cheek. He pulled out his red handkerchief and wiped it away, biting his lip at the cute way Jungwoo’s face scrunched as the touch.

Turning back, he left as quietly as came, sighing a bit at not being able to catch a glimpse of the clumsy detective anymore. Today was his final day on this route and he was happy enough to have even seen the detective that didn’t even know who he was. 

As his back disappeared through the door, Jungwoo moaned and sat up. 

Yawning, he blinked at the package before tearing it open. The box held the exact evidence he needed and adrenaline filled his veins. Jungwoo sprinted out of his office, nearly taking out the poor postman, and screamed for his partner. 

They got to work immediately while the postman slipped out, completely unnoticed and with a bit of a sad smile. 

 

**6**

Taekyung knew something was off. 

He’d been listening to the rumors and whispers around them. There was a hit on the Korean prime minister and a plan to strike while he was in Japan. No info could be found on who ordered the hit, but so long at Taekyung was there, nothing would happen. 

He was one of the best bodyguards to come from South Korea and after his days of protecting the president, Taekyung was no stranger to assassination attempts.

What he didn’t know, however, was who he was up against. 

The Killer was a hired hitman know for killing everything asked. He was quick and clean. No authority was able to trace a single thing about him. 

The only thing he left was an intimate picture of his target, something that only a family member or friend would have. The picture was left next to the body or at the spot he had sniped them from.

Today, The Killer sat on a high window ledge, smoking a cigarette. He’d done all his research on the Korean prime minister and his “famous” bodyguard. Pulling out a pair of expensive binoculars, he spied the pair getting out of a limo, the Japanese prime minister ready to greet them. 

A grin found a way onto his face when his gaze turned to Han Taekyung. It’d been almost too easy to play with the bodyguard. A few leaked rumors here, whispers of a hit there; he’d caught the bodyguard hook, line, and sinker. A thrill ran down his spine at the worry and suspicion in Taekyung’s eyes. 

Nothing pleased him more than his games working out exactly as he planned.

He put the binoculars back and flicked his cigarette away, sliding back through the window and into the hotel room he rented under the Korean prime minister’s name. In less than ten minutes, his rifle was set up and angled _just_ right. He leaned down, eye against the scope, and waited. 

The moment the Korean prime minister stood up to give his speech, he started counting.

_One_

Taekyung still wasn’t feeling right. 

He positioned himself right behind the prime minister in case anything should happen...but it did nothing to calm his nerves. His eyes roamed everywhere- across the crowd, over the surrounding buildings, the few cars that slowed to see what was going on- but there was nothing was wrong. Nothing seemed off.

_Two_

His hands gripped tighter, finger flirting with the trigger. “Come on, Han Taekyung.” He mumbled to himself. “Show me how good you are.”

_Three_

There. 

Two blocks away and on the 29th floor, Taekyung spotted the discreet barrel peaking through a window. 

“Sir!” He grabbed the prime minister immediately, spinning them so that his body would take the shot first.

And it does.

Little did Taekyung know that that was The Killer’s exact plan. 

It’s a quick process of three bullets. In less than 30 seconds, Taekyung and the prime minister were on the ground, blood getting everywhere. Bodies unmoving. 

The Killer pulled two pictures out of his pocket. The first showed the prime minister cheating on his wife with another women in a hot spring.

But the second was of Han Taekyung. It was a much younger Taekyung, but Taekyung all the same, smiling brightly into the camera. The pictured stood out to him when he was looking up the bodyguard and he just had to pick it.

He still didn’t know why. 

Tossing the pictures on the king-sized bed, he shrugged and grabbed his red backpack. He was already thinking about the next important thing- dinner. 

He walked out of the hotel without a worry in the world, just as the police swarmed the hotel. 

If anything, he was a little sad that Taekyung hadn’t spotted him earlier. It’d been a while since he’d been faced with a real challenge. 

But it turned out to be just another day on the job.

 

**1**

The Crown Prince. Your Highness. Your Majesty. The King’s Son.

Yigak went by so many names and titles that weren’t his real name. 

“Why can’t they just call me Yigak?” He asked his mother once, when he was still young and naive to the world his was born in. 

She simply smiled at him, reaching down to smooth and fix his hanbok that he had messed up while playing. 

“They can’t, my sweet little prince. But it’s more that they respect you and who you will be to them when you get older.” She cupped his face and kissed his forehead. “You’ll be king, just like your father, one day and already they look forward to your protection and wise guidance in their lives.”

Yigak was too young to fully understand her words, but nodded and gave her a hug. It was only in his early youth that he was able to get away with that sort of behavior anyway. 

 

When he turned ten, Yigak’s father, The King, began his real training as crown prince. His lessons were tripled and he could no longer spend lunch and dinner with his mother. Confined to his own quarters and personal study room, it took a only a year for him to snap and rebel.

Dressed in stolen, dirty clothes, an eleven-year old Yigak climbed over the wall of the place and escaped into the surrounding village. 

It was early morning, but the sun was up and people were already milling about. Stalls were set up with food and clothes and little trinkets that Yigak had never seen before. 

Overwhelmed with such joy and _freedom_ for the first time in his life, Yigak completely forgot about the time until he was face to face with palace guards sent to find him. 

He was severely punished once he was safe back in the palace walls. No archery or physical training for two weeks. He was to stay in his quarters and study in silence, not a word to be spoken to anyone. 

Not even his mother came to visit him during those two weeks, not even when his birthday passed.

The first day free from punishment, however, Yigak was given a gift. Or, at least, that’s what they call him.

“His name is Kyungtak, Your Highness. As Crown Prince you need a personal guard. He’ll be your shadow from now on, so Dont. Try. Anything.” His eunach stated, a warning look in his eyes. 

But Yigak’s attention stayed on the other boy in front of him. Kyungtak was obviously older, and a little taller, than himself. His black hair was down, hiding most of his face and his clothes were two sizes too big. 

He was boy trying to fit in man’s clothing…Yigak knew the feeling all too well. 

“Yah, are you not going to bow to the Crown Prince?” 

Yigak gasped as his eunach kicked out Kyungtak’s knees, sending him to the ground. It was hard not to see how he was shaking. 

“It’s...it’s an honor to be able to service you, y-your highness.”

Satisfied, the eunach smirked and left the two of them. 

Yigak knew by now that they weren’t truly alone, the palace had eyes everywhere, but he didn’t care and crouched in front of Kyungtak and carefully tilted his head up.

“You don’t ever have to be afraid of me, okay? Please don’t be afraid of me.” 

Kyungtak stayed silent, dark eyes staring, calculating, wary of Yigak’s words. Sighing, the prince stood up, brushing the dirt of his hanbok and holding a hand out for Kyungtak. 

“Let’s get you washed and cleaned up. You’re a royal guard now, the _Crown Prince’s_ at that,” He commented a little sarcastically. “You should at least look the part.” 

Eventually, Kyungtak reached up and grasped his hand, pulling himself up. “Yes, Your Highness.” he mumbled, scratching the side of his arm. 

“Call me Yigak.”

 

It took awhile for them to get comfortable with each other...but time was the only thing they had.

 

“Kyungtakie~” Yigak smiled at his guard- no. His _best friend_ as he walked into the room. “Just as I was getting bored. Are you hungry? Should I get us a snack or a drink?” 

After many years of experience with the Crown Prince, Kyungtak sat in his normal corner, where he could keep an eye on the door and Yigak at the same time, and rolled his eyes. “No thank you, Your Highness.”

“Kyungtak, how many times do I have to tell you, call me-”

“ _Your Highness_ ,” Kyungtak stressed, purposely nodding his head toward the door. 

The palace always had eyes and ears everywhere, but with the news of the King’s illness, things were beginning to get tense. Kyungtak barely slept, keeping a close watch over Yigak, dozing off here and there when his body finally gave up on him.

Knowing that they were being watched, the Crown Prince sighed. “I guess a walk in the moonlight is out of the question too.”

“Yes, My Prince.” 

Bored, Yigak leaned back and watched Kyungtak struggle with his hair. It’d grow long over the years, but it no longer hid his handsome face. 

He still remembered how shocked he was on that first day, after Kyungtak was all cleaned up and dressed in clothes that fit him. Yigak told him that his face was prettier than any of the court ladies. The glare he’d gotten in return haunted his dreams for a year.

The tie Kyungtak was trying to use was obviously too old and worn to hold his hair. After a few minutes of struggle, it was Yigak who rolled his eyes.

“Come here, Kyungtak.”

Unable to resist a command by the Crown Prince, Kyungtak moved until he was next to the prince, his long hair spilling over his shoulders and covering his face. 

“Your hair hates your face so much.” Yigak stated with some amusement as he dug around the drawer in his desk. “Ah, here it is.” The leather strap was red, a few gold beads tied to the ends.

“Your Highness, I don’t think I should-”

“Turn around, Kyungtak.”

He smiled at the war of emotions on Kyungtak’s face, laughing when he let out a small huff and finally turned around. When he was younger, the Queen would sometimes do Yigak’s hair before that became the job of the other servants. Still, he thought of his late mother as he gently pulled back Kyungtak’s hair, securing it in the half ponytail the guard seemed to be fond of. 

The tie stood out against his black hair, but that was the point. Kyungtak was _his_ guard, _his_ friend. Even when Yigak took the throne, it would still be the same way. If no one in the palace knew that, now they would. 

“You know, the scriptures say that there’s a red string of fate that ties two people together.” Yigak commented, words tumbling out of his mouth without much thought. “Perhaps that’s what brought us together, Kyungtakie~ Mm?”

“Only I would have such an unlucky fate to be stuck with you for life, Your Highness.”

“YAH-” 

He was about to yell, but Kyungtak had turned his head and was grinning at him. Yigak tackled him regardless, the both of them laughing until a chambermaid knocked on the door to see if everything was okay. 

It wasn’t until later, after the chambermaids had dressed the Crown Prince for bed and all the candles were blown out, that Kyungtak really responded to his question.

 

“Red string or not, I’m forever grateful to have met and served you, Yigak. And I would do the same thing over and over again in any life I lived.”

 

**10**

Kim Jaejoong didn’t believe in fate. He believed in hard work and perseverance but- There had to be something in play the day he met Park Yoochun, the scrawny awkward kid from the USA. 

His Korean was awkward and he couldn’t even dance, but the moment he opened his mouth or touched the piano- it was clear that he belonged.

Now, more than ten years down the road, Jaejoong still felt the same way.

Surrounded by a red ocean, protected and warmed by the hands clutching his, Jaejoong felt like he could fly forever.

But it wasn’t possible without Yoochun. 

Stripped down of everything that made them gods, everything that made them untouchable, stripped of make up and clothes and images and standards- Yoochun was still amazing to him. 

And Yoochun was, for some reason, amazed by him. 

Whenever… _Where_ ver they were together, Yoochun felt a little like home.

 

And a lot like love.

**Author's Note:**

> WHEW. So this started out as me wanting to write a bunch of drama AUs (thanks to that lovely gifset) and then turned into this monster. I picked the number 10 because of their anniversary but man, it was a little hard to think of some random AUs or lifetimes after writing 8, haha. But for those that don't know or understand the AUs (whether it be the names or the time periods, but some are very different), I'll break them down for you!
> 
> 1\. Yigak (Yoochun's Rooftop Prince character) and Kyungtak (Jae's Dr. Jin character), Joseon Dynasty
> 
> 2\. Sunjoon (Yoochun's Sunkyunkwan Scandal character) and Jaejun (originally was using it since it was Jae's birth name, but also the name of his character from Heaven's Postman), later Joseon Dynasty
> 
> 3\. Micky (Yoochun's English name) and Jay/JJ (nicknames of Jaejoong that have been thrown around by various sources), 1920s New York City
> 
> 4\. Han Jungwoo (Yoochun's character in Missing You) and the Postman (Was going to name him Jaejun, since that was his HP name buuuut already used it so lol), early 2000s, Seoul.
> 
> 5\. Yoochun and Jaye (French name that means blue jay. Almost named him Julien for kicks, but Jaye made more sense) late 1990s, Paris.  
> * I currently just took up French again, so excuse any serious mistakes x_x I tried to make it as convincing and clear as I could hahaha. But for Yoochun's letter it read "I'm terribly sorry. I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you."
> 
> 6\. Han Taekyung (Yoochun's character from Three Days) and The Killer (Jae from his amazing Elle magazine shoot/short film), present day, Tokyo.
> 
> 7\. Park Yoochun and Kim Jaejoong (Just to throw their real names in another universe lol), 1980s, Seoul
> 
> 8\. Muwon (Jaejoong's character from Protect The Boss) and Blind man (part lazy, part Muwon's bad timing for not giving him a chance to get his name), 2000s, Hawaii
> 
> 9\. Taeyong (Yoochun's OTHER character in Rooftop Prince) and Seonsu (Jaejoong's character from his Japanese drama Sunao ni Narenakute/Hard To Say I Love You), early 1990's, Seoul (thank you December for that inspiration, haha)
> 
> 10\. Yoochun and Jaejoong, present day, real life, right now ♥


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